Drip
by lethalperception7
Summary: Two X-girls talk in the night after an unexpected meeting in an unexpected place. Contains self-injury. No serious romances. Rating more PG15. Tell me if I should raise it. Please review.


AN: Kay, my first (published) serious story. Also, first story whose main character is not Rouge. It's a two-part thing so expect the next chapter to come soon. It will be a bit longer. No pairings spelled out for you though some may be mentioned. Contains a bit of self-inflicted violence so if you can't handle it, please stay out of my kitchen. Please tell me in a review if I should up the rating. Erm... I think that's it. Enjoy!  
  
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Drip...Drip...Drip...  
  
She watched the ruby droplets run down her wrist and to her fingertips then finally to the bathroom floor. She smiled as the single drop joined again with the rest of the blood in a puddle already on the floor. It was poetic in it's own twisted way.  
  
The cut was beginning to clot and she knew she should return to bed. Logan would probably do one of his room sweeps before long. But she couldn't help but linger and watch her blood drip out, bit by bit, like she wish all of her stupid problems would.  
  
Today was a bad day to be a X-man. Magneto's lackeys had taken yet another hostage, this time a high raking military official. When rescued the bastard spit at the nearest person's face, who happened to be her, and called all of them monsters. She punched him and said a few choice words. Everyone was so shocked. She got a week's worth of extra danger room sessions with Logan.  
  
Was she supposed to be a martyr for this cause? It's sickening how these people react to being rescued. She just wanted to scream at them, 'Stop it you idiots! Don't you understand? Are you so blind and unfeeling? Are we supposed to suffer because of YOUR ignorance? It's for your well being you assholes, but in no way do you deserve it. I'll laugh when I see you burn in hell, you bigots!' She kept in so much rage and anger and hopelessness that one of these days she would snap and do who knows what.  
  
Finally, the blood from her cut slowed to a total stop and she reluctantly rose to wash her arm. It was sort of necessary just in case she 'ran' into someone, as unlikely as that was at two o'clock in the morning. Plus, she still needed to wipe up the blood on the floor, though it usually didn't take too long. The bathroom is the most practical place to cut. No muss, no fuss, and plenty of chemicals to hide the blood scent from Logan.  
  
The first time she tried was back home in her bedroom. Not the smartest thing she had ever done. She bled more then she was anticipating and the blood got all over the sheets. Fortunately she was able to explain it was only 'girl trouble'. Talk about gullibility. Or maybe they just didn't want to think she would do that. Anyways it was a feeble excuse, but not really a lie. She was a girl after all and it was trouble.  
  
She placed her arm in the sink and gasped a little as the wound touched the water. It made her smile a little After all this time, and all she's been through, she was still startled by the sharp little pain of water meeting cut. It was actually pretty funny.  
  
As she began to dry her arm the doorknob rattled. She swung around to face the door, fear of discovery quite evident in her eyes. She grabbed the nearest hand towel and fell to her knees in a vain attempt to soak up all of the blood. Woozy, she stumbled.  
  
There was a knock on the door and a female voice said tiredly, "Hey I need to go."  
  
She glanced back, over her shoulder, at the door. The towel was now saturated with blood from the deep self-inflicted cuts. She then went for the toilet paper. She called back in a squeaky and abnormal voice, "Just a sec!"  
  
There was a pause and the voice said, "Oh it's you. Well you've barged in on me so many times that you won't mind if I return the favor for once." The doorknob rattled, the lock popped, and the door swung open.  
  
She immediately jumped up in surprise.  
  
The new occupant stared open-mouthed at the girl in the middle of the bathroom, with blood flowing from the reopened cut, scars plainly visible. She still held on to the bloodied hand towel and the soggy toilet paper was clenched in her other fist. She looked embarrassed, scared, and angry.  
  
A grim smile took the place of the opened-mouth expression. The Goth then said to the bloody girl in the room, "Well, well, well. Looks like Miss Kitty isn't all sunshine daisies after all."  
  
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AN: Anyone surprised at the people? I dropped hints throughout. Please leave a review. I'll accept them, but flames will be donated to hell. Thank you! 


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